


Apologies for Wasting Two Hours of Your Time Even though You’re Being Paid to Listen

by engwand



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Mental Health Issues, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23654503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/engwand/pseuds/engwand
Summary: Today in therapy you asked me what my thoughts on love are.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Kudos: 17





	Apologies for Wasting Two Hours of Your Time Even though You’re Being Paid to Listen

**Author's Note:**

> This was an assignment i wrote for one of my classes and decided to post. It rlly just be me venting through Arthur tbh

Today in therapy you asked me what my thoughts on love are.

  
My eyes fixate on the leather chair you’re situated in, fluorescent lighting illuminating off the warm black skin. That's a vague question, a seemingly insignificant phrase yet it could be taken in so many different directions. Are you asking me if I believed in love? Or how I viewed it as a whole? 

  
“Just your general thoughts.” You reassure, clicking your pen in anticipation for my response.  
Well, it's complicated. I see everything in black and white terms, including love. I believe in it, yet at the same time I’m convinced it doesn’t actually exist. I’m simultaneously entranced and intimidated by the idea. 

  
“Can you elaborate for me please?” You ask. I know my answer didn’t make sense. But can you blame me? Love is an umbrella term, it comes in many different ways and could mean so much or so little to someone. Personally, I want it to exist. I want love to cure my problems, to medicate the flaws worn upon my sleeves. I want to feel love. I want love to be the emotion radiating around my bedroom at late hours in the night telling me everything will be alright. I want it be the one thing that makes me truly happy. But that's an impossible request, I quickly coil back into myself. I’m hesitant about love and everything that surrounds it, I’m scared by what it's capable of.   
Love is like going into a restaurant you’re unfamiliar with. You see the first appetizing thing and say: “I'll have what they’re having”, but is it really what you want? You don’t know if what you’re seeing is the truth. All you know is what’s visible to the public, the sugary sweet coating to a possible sour nightmare.

  
“Why do you find yourself hesitant about giving full faith? Are there reasons for your negative thinking?” You prod on.

  
Simple answer, because completely believing in love is completely believing people aren’t out to hurt you, and I can’t do that. Trusting someone to not eventually harm you is trusting the rain not to soak your laundry when you forgot you left them out to dry. 

  
I can feel your next question coming on, why don’t I trust people? I’m not sure. Maybe its because of my past experiences with trusting someone and what I was raised around. Maybe it’s because fiction gave me unrealistic expectations to what people are actually like. Maybe it’s my paranoia dominating rationality, or that I’m just a hopeless romantic bound to never be content with what I’m given. Maybe it's all of those factors teaming together to get off to my suffering. Probably the latter. 

  
“You've mentioned having past experiences, Arthur, would you like to share?”

  
Not particularly, but I assume you want me to anyways. There's pen tapping, then silence. You’re waiting for me.

  
I guess I wasn’t surrounded by examples of stable love and trust. My parents fought constantly. Every kid's parents did that, internal voices argue. Yes, married couples have falling outs at least once in their lifetime. But not every kid had to endure their parents screaming hateful words at each other, alternating between spitting an insult and forcing the child they raised together to pick a side when they’re both at the wrong. Not every kid witnessed the smashing of glass after met with their father’s fist. The frustrated holes in the walls, the broken doors, the handcuffs and police sirens brought by neighboring complaints. The nights spent hiding in crawlspaces with warm tears streaming down your cheeks because you’re just so fucking terrified of the noise. Not all kids grew up knowing that their father almost killed their mother out of provoked rage on several occasions. They weren’t there when it happened, but that doesn’t matter because it still happened. The noise, the damn ear-piercing shouts that never seemed to stop. 

  
“But aren’t your parents still together?” Your calm voice impels the vivid memories of childhood trauma. Yes, but how so is beyond me. Maybe it’s because they still love each other no matter what, but that answer doesn’t satisfy me. Sometimes I’m convinced they only stay together because the cons of splitting would outweigh the pros. I mean, they say they love the other, but people can so easily half-ass they’re empathy for someone. 

  
If it wasn’t my parents, it was somebody else taking my faith in others and degenerating it over time. My childhood optimism was destroyed by lies and betrayal, but what could be done? People are naturally greed-filled creatures. We all want something that benefits us but puts others through pain. Strong overcomes the weak. You scribble quick notes down on your report.

  
“Did you have any relationships in the past that have failed?” I give you a saddened smile while still avoiding direct eye contact. What a wonderful question, it’s almost humouring to me. 

  
I didn’t get into many relationships out of my own exaggerated fears. When I did, they were all intense and too quick to end. Around middle school was when I became insecure about every part of myself. My self esteem plummeted due to years of emotional abuse, both at home and school. I wanted cling to the first person that didn’t find my appearance to be physically repulsive. Someone who actually enjoyed my messy blond hair and bold eyebrows. My lack of height and short temper, and that’s exactly what I did.

  
His name was Bryce. We bonded over shared interests and he eventually took a liking to me, I think. I was asked out Valentines Day in 6th grade. I know, too young. I was stupid and naive. At first it was nice, I had someone that liked me. That nice feeling gradually rotted somehow. His sweetness turned to mocks and complaints. Laughing with me to laughing at me. He took control over parts of me. ‘Don’t expose your shoulders. Pull down your shirt. Stop hugging other guys, I get jealous easily. Scratch that, don’t even talk to other guys.’ What was a pleasant experience became stressful and difficult to manage. I wrote him a note explaining my struggles and request to break up the last day of 7th grade. I cross and uncross my legs, my fingers fidgeting with the loose threading of the cushions. 

  
Bryce only grew more rude as we drifted apart. I was no longer anything special to him, my presence didn’t matter. It wasn’t until towards the end of 8th grade when I got the sudden spam of sweet words and pleas to get back together. ‘You’re the best person I’ve ever met, I can’t live without you. I will never be happy if I can’t have you as mine.’ I almost laugh at the recalling of those 2 am text messages. What's sad is that 14 year old me actually believed him. I thought that he truly wanted me for who I was as a person, that he saw me as someone who was worth it. I was proven wrong. He didn’t want me, he wanted a relationship. I was just his last resort because I couldn’t say no. 

  
I became even more stressed. He was an asshole and I was receiving my karma for taking him back. At the time I was close to high school and dealing with my own personal dilemmas, the last thing I needed was the chains of a controlling insensitive boyfriend attached to me. So I finally snipped the ties.  
After him I became paranoid of dating anybody else. I was nervous of reliving Bryce subconsciously through a different guy. High school was when I gave romantic relations another chance. 

  
Your eyes are focused on the wad of paper between your slim fingers. You’ve seemed to have written a lot during this session.

“What happened in your high school relationships?” You question. The threads I picked have fallen to floor and I’m not sure what to do with my restless hands.

  
After two more broken relationships I met a boy named Kyle Junior year. Again, I was asked out and I would've felt too guilty declining his kind offer. I was filled with gross, sickly love around him. We would give each other letters filled with nonsense and little hints of affectionate terms. I felt validated instead of self-conscious of myself. It was exactly what I’d longed for. Rejection washes over the neutral expression I usually hold. 

  
That is, until the day I got a message explaining how Kyle's apparently homophobic step mom was forcing him to break up with me. Knowing only what he told me I was compliant to his mother's orders. Months later I found out via mutual friends that Kyle's step mom was never homophobic or even knew he was seeing someone during the time we dated. He even said that I was just a phase and he grew bored of me. I was heartbroken for the longest time. I felt cheated, unworthy of at least the truth.

  
I stare over at the maroon curtains draping your windows in an attempt to restrain the tears brimming my eyes. I don’t want to cry, not now. 

  
“How did him lying make you feel?” You inquire. I don’t know, it made me upset? Angry? Betrayed? I got hurt and it was my fault. 

  
Pen scribbling. “Why do you feel it was your fault?” You’re staring at me. I raise my shoulders slightly in a halfhearted shrug. It's always my fault in a way. I fuck up every chance I’m given to be happy. I’m never good enough for anyone. The tears soaking my eyelashes sting.

  
I don’t know why I keep trying. At this point I’m setting myself up for disappointment. Wind pushes the curtains aside and sunlight is exposed, I stare directly at the blinding light to punish myself for being delicate. I don’t understand how people can do this so easily. 

  
“Do what, Arthur?” you’re aware of how hard I’m trying not to break into a million pieces. Date I guess? How can people go in and out of intimate relationships unscarred? I’ve seen it happen countless times. Healthy relationships end and both parties move to the next willing candidate, just like that. It pisses me off. Didn’t that person mean anything to them? Did they ever really love each other? Or were they just dating for the status? People play with hearts like jigsaw puzzles. If they crack it, who cares? To them it was just a game. To them, those fractured emotions are easily replaceable.   
“Do you still want to continue having relationships?” You sound distant, muffled. My thoughts are racing and my heart is beating spasmodically. I give a weak nod. Sadly, I still find myself pressing the retry button on every failed end screen. 

  
I can sense your waves of sympathy. I hate being pitied. “Why is that? It sounds like you would benefit more from closing off the gate.” You’re too persistent. The tears spill over in streaks of lava down my face.

  
I’m lonely. I’m so incredibly lonely that platonic relationships aren’t enough. I crave being loved by someone, the consciousness of affection and security. I want sweet nothings whispered in my ear at 4 am when I can’t sleep because being alive is just too much for me. I am so damn desperate for the slightest touch of emotional connection. Call me selfish.

  
“I don’t think you’re selfish, Arthur. It’s a given human quality to want this.” Your encouragement isn’t convincing enough. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I wasn’t even this emotionally distressed until..

  
This catches your full attention. “Until?” You repeat. I part my lips slightly to push out the words I’m reluctant to share.

  
Until Alfred.

  
Fucking _Alfred_. He’s .. He’s my neighbor and friend, I hope. I’ve known him for almost a year now, ever since I graduated college.

  
“Who is Alfred to you?” my lips curled into a sad smile. Annoyingly perfect in every aspect is what he is.

  
It’s hard to not hold his charm and compassion to a level of Importance. His sky tinted eyes that leak the universe and that stupid smile. He's filled with youth and optimism. He’s toxically empathetic and just about the only person that has shown true interest in my personality. Which is ironic, because we’re basically polar opposites. More notes are written down.

  
“Opposites attract,” You comment, “Has he displayed signs of romantic intention?” I think? He’s made jokes hinting it before that I remember. The sudden nostalgia gives me a warm feeling.

  
_“If I beat you at Super Smash Bros, ya gotta go on a date with me.” Alfred grins from his position on the floor. His proposal catches me off-guard, did he mean that? Or is he just messing with me again? “But you’re paying.” He quickly adds. I roll my eyes and grab a controller. He wants food. “Deal.” I crush his Captain Falcon with Link as my vessel. Maybe I should’ve let him win to get that hopeful promise of a date._

  
_Alfred looks at me, impressed. “Wow, finally something you don’t suck at.”_

  
_“Fuck you.” I joke._

  
_“When and where?” He winks and laughs. I lean over to smack his forearm, but I’m laughing with him anyways. He’s such an idiot, I love it._

  
I’m looking down at my feet. I don’t want to mess up with Alfred like I’ve done with everyone else. The thought of potentially driving him away devastates me. I don’t want to risk losing another person. I’m mediocre at best with no redeeming qualities, he’ll end up realizing that at some point.

  
“Arthur, I’m sure Alfred enjoys a lot of things about you, and you enjoy him from what I can tell,” You smile, “My advice for you is to let it come naturally. If Alfred asks you out, accept. If it doesn’t work out it’s fine. Alfred sounds like the type to stay friends anyways.” You look as almost you’re about to give me a bone-crushing hug, but you stay seated. I’m conflicted.

  
“You'll never know unless you try.” You tap your papers lightly against your knees and stand up. Our session is over.

  
On the way out of your office, my phone rings. “Hey, Arthur! I got time off, wanna go get lunch somewhere? My treat.” A familiar, wonderfully stupid voice greets me. I can’t help but to smile with the tears from earlier still staining my cheeks. Maybe it would be worth it this time.

  
“Sure, Alfred. That would be lovely.”


End file.
